Blew Knight

by Bill Hart

Roger Knight was in one of his typical miserable rotten moods as he angrily walked home from work. And since he stood nearly 6'11" and weighed close to 400 pounds, most people even remotely acquainted with him knew knew better then being on the same street or, better yet, on the same block when Roger was in one of his moods.

That he'd knocked an old woman sprawling to the street never phased him. He knew it was her fault, since she should have known better then to cross his path. But an unexpected and unnatural hush settled across the entire block, as the old woman hustled back to her feet and began swearing at Roger in terms that would have made the crustiest of old sailors blush.

"What's your problem, you old witch." he barked.

"Old witch?" cackled the old woman cheerfully in return. "It seems you have the most remarkable insight for such an irascible young snot." Her steely-eyed stare seemed to pierce to his very soul. "But it seems you still have much in the nature of temperance yet to acquire. Perhaps you might learn it better if you were not yourself for a time."

"What kind of crap are you spouting, you fugitive from a nightmare?"

But the witch said nothing. She simply snapped her fingers and disappeared in a puff of polka-dotted smoke that wafted slowly away.

"Weird old bitch." mumbled Roger. But most oddly, Roger began feeling most peculiar. When he closed his eyes in an attempt to regain his bearing, he could have sworn he felt himself grow smaller. And when he opened his eyes again, his vision was obscured by what Roger could only imagine as long blonde, nearly white, hair that flopped over and partially covered his eyes. His body now felt long and almost ... willowy was the word that entered his mind. "Holy shit." he swore as his suddenly overactive imagination kicked into overdrive and jumped the tracks directly into the express lane.

All of a sudden, without his conscious direction, his hand shot down between his legs. He sighed with immense relief when he found his manhood still present and accounted for. In fact, it now seemed even bigger than before. But his legs felt funny, sort of furry, to his touch. And when Roger pulled down his pants to find out why, he found his legs now covered by thick white fur.

When he reached up to move what he thought was hair away from of his eyes, he found his arms were now likewise covered in fur. And he gasped as he discovered that it wasn't hair blocking his sight at all. Instead, he found that his sight had been obscured by his very long and furry white floppy ears hanging down limply in front of his eyes.

"What has that old crone done to me?" asked Roger to himself. And then he gasped as he saw his reflection in the darkened glass of a closed storefront window. "Holy fucking shit!" he exclaimed. "That fucking bitch changed me into a goddamn six-foot rabbit."

And while he continued to stare at his reflection in absolute disbelief, his clothes, with the exception of his vest from where his pocketwatch hung, dissolved. "Well, at least I won't have to run out and buy new clothes." he mumbled. "Whoever heard of a rabbit even wearing clothes, let alone buying any."

Roger didn't know what to do. At least, not until he spotted the bar across the street. He wondered if they served rabbits there. But at that moment, who cared. He needed a drink. He needed one now. And he needed it in the worst possible way.

After casually hopping through the door, he ambled up to the bar and hoped no one would notice his newly altered appearance. The wizened old bartender looked him over carefully for several moments. "What'll it be, Bugs?" he finally asked.

"Roger." he corrected. "My name's Roger."

"Sure thing. Whatever you say, Bugs." answered the bartender. "So what'll you have?"

"Carrot juice." replied Roger without a second's hesitation. "Your best stuff, straight up. None of that watered down stuff."

The bartender smiled. "Coming right up, Bugs." He set a shot glass filled with the bright orange liquid down in front of Roger, who, after staring at it for a moment, picked it up and chugged it in a single smooth motion.

"Excellent stuff." said Roger, as he quickly ran his tongue across his upper lip to savor the flavor of juice. He wondered why he'd never liked carrot juice before. "Pour me another." he told the barkeep, who quickly refilled his glass. "And leave the bottle."

"Are you sure?" asked the barkeep. "That's powerful stuff."

"I've had a bad day." he grumbled. "If I want your advice on something, I'll ask for it."

"Sure thing, Bugs." replied the bartender. "Whatever you say."

Roger chugged his drink, then poured himself another and chugged it down as well. Right then, the day didn't seem so bad. In fact, he felt really good, almost high. That's strange, he thought, I've never had a buzz like this after only three drinks before.

But then he'd never been a rabbit before. He'd never before sat in a bar getting high chugging carrot juice either. But he'd ordered the good stuff and the bartender had delivered the good stuff. You could tell from its label which extolled it as "pure 24-carrot" juice, which everyone in the bar knew Roger hadn't read, since no one could endure a pun like that without a groan.

Then he saw her.

"Who is she?" he asked the bartender. "God, is she ever gorgeous."

"If you say so, Bugs. But then, most fortunately for me, I've never had much of a hankering for rabbits." he replied. "That's Ms. Mone, but if you ask me, and I don't figure that you will, you'd best stay away from her. She's a real bad news doe, Bugs."

"You're right, I won't ask." replied Roger with a grin. He knew he had to meet her, but he didn't exactly know why he felt the way he did. He waved at her, finally catching Ms. Mone's attention. "Would you like to join me for a drink?" he asked as she came nearer. And with each step that brought her closer, his thoughts turned more and more to what he'd like to be doing with her.

As she joined him at the bar, she smiled. "Is that a triple grade A carrot in your pocket? Or are you just happy to see me?" she asked.

Roger smiled, but continued staring at her as if he hadn't heard a word of what she'd said. "I'm really happy to meet you Ms. Mone." he said, in a nearly, except for the obvious, emotionless voice.

"Please call me Farrah." she replied with a smile that melted what little was left of Roger's will.

"I'm Roger." he replied. "But if you don't like that name, you can call me anything you like." Roger couldn't bear to take his eyes off this gorgeous goddess who stood before him for even a moment. He was snared by her beauty. And enraptured under the spell she had woven over her.

"I'm not all that thirsty, right now, you handsome buck." she told him as she place a paw against his chest. "I have a room in the back. Why don't we go there and have some fun for a while."

Roger's heart pounded, as she led him away to her small room at the back of the bar.

And the old wizened tender of the bar could only shake his head as he saw the vacant look behind the eyes of that smiling buck. Some folks, and that included a lot of rabbits, just couldn't listen to common sense. He tried to warn him, but then almost of the bucks snared by Farrah Mone thought they knew everything already. Well, that one was going to be learning some things the hard way.

By the time they reached her room, Roger was nearly oblivious to anything and everything around him. There was something about her. Something that excited him more than anyone or anything had ever excited him. Farrah Mone was his world now. Her smile made him melt. And without her he had no reason to exist.

From the sounds of pleasure that soon filled the air and echoed from that tiny room, it was plain to everyone in the bar that Roger Knight was getting laid better than he'd ever been laid before. And that made all the bar's regulars, who'd heard those sounds of pleasure emanate from that room countless times before, just smile. Poor Bugs, as the barkeep always called them, wouldn't have the foggiest notion of anything he and that saucy slut of doe had done by the time he woke up in the morning. That was just another of those unusual effects that Farrah Mone had on bucks.

In the morning, Roger woke and wished he hadn't. His head pounded from what he thought was the aftereffects of far too much carrot juice. But, although he didn't remember any of it, his throbbing head was the direct result of far too much Farrah Mone. Not knowing exactly where he was, he stumbled out of the little room at the back of the bar.

"How you feeling, Bugs?" asked the bartender.

"Like I've been rode hard and put away wet." he replied, surprised that the bartender was still here.

"Thought as much. She does that to you bucks."

"She? She who?"

"It ain't important, Bugs." He slid a glass towards Roger.

"I don't think so. I had more than enough last night."

"Go ahead, Bugs. Drink it." smiled the barkeep. "It's good for what ails you." he chuckled. "It's kind of the hair of the hare that bit you."

"What does that mean?"

"It ain't important, Bugs. Just drink up."

Carefully, he sipped the contents of the glass. "This is good stuff. I feel better already."

"Told you, you would, Bugs."

The bartender watched as Roger continued to sip from his glass. And as he did, he wondered what Ms. Mone had done to him last night. The buck sitting here calmly this morning didn't look any different than he had the night before. And for those bucks, like him, who had spent that single night of mindless passion with Farrah Mone, coming out unchanged was, if not unheard of, most unusual.

He thought back to a couple of nights ago. That young buck had come in here thinking of himself as god's eternal gift to doekind. But he hadn't had his experience with Ms. Mone without coming out unscathed. When he'd emerged from her room after his endless night of pleasure, he had had, in addition to the penis he'd always had, another penis where his fluffy tail had once been.

It still chilled him when he remembered what she'd told him afterwards. "That young buck has always wanted more does with which to have his way. He told me he wanted them both coming and going. It should be much easier for him now. Don't you think so, bartender?"

But this one had seemed so full of anger last night. And then this morning he didn't seem to be quite the same. This Bugs was calmer now. Could Ms. Mone have taken away his anger, replacing it with the calm he now possessed.

Perhaps. But he'd never seen Farrah Mone do anything nice for one of her wayward bucks, but that didn't necessarily mean she didn't have it in her. Lots of his customers had asked why he let that kind of slutty doe stay in his back room. And he'd always told them that he'd never gone in much for labeling other folks, since he'd always figured that once someone labeled someone else, then other folks would have an excuse to stop using their own heads for making up their own minds.

"Morning, Uncle."

"Good morning, Jessica." replied the bartender. "You're looking mighty good."

"Thank you, Uncle." she replied blushing slightly.

"Uncle?" questioned Roger as he finished up his drink.

"It's an honorific, Bugs." he answered. "I've known Jessica since she was just a tiny kit a few hours old. Her parents were two of my closest friends and they knew I'd take good care of her if something happened to them."

"And you've done an excellent job, Uncle." She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "I think they'd be very happy with the way you raised me."

"Thank you, Jessie." he replied. "I can only hope you're right."

"Who's this, Uncle?" she asked pointing at Roger. "You usually don't have customers this early in the morning."

"That's Bugs. He spent the night in the back last night?"

"Oh." she smiled. "Someone had a little too much carrot juice?"

"You might say that." replied her uncle.

"So Bugs." She turned to Roger. "Is your name really Bugs?"

"No, it's Roger." he replied. "But he keeps calling me Bugs."

"He calls every buck that comes in here Bugs." she smiled. "He doesn't mean anything by it, he's just not very good at remembering names."

"There's some coffee on the warmer, if you're interested." said the bartender. "I've got things to clean up in the back. You kids can go on talking while I'm working."

"Thank you, Uncle." said Jessica.

"Thank you, sir." said Roger.

Jessica smiled at Roger.

Roger smiled at Jessica.

And the wizened old bartender smiled unnoticed by either of them. He knew that the Bugs that come in here last night would have never called him sir. But he would have never let that Bugs get anywhere near Jessica.

But he wasn't the same Bugs he'd been then. He have to thank Farrah Mone some time, although he was certain she would neither expect it or admit to having done something nice.

He looked back at Roger and Jessica and smiled. Funny thing about rabbits, he thought. Their bodies fall in love awful quick, but it always takes their brains a few more hours to figure out what's going on. He studied the two of them sitting at the bar nearly motionless and staring speechlessly into each other's eyes and determined it would be at least four, but no more than five, hours before their brains caught on that they were in love with each other.

That should be enough time thought the bartender.

If he's going to marry my Jessica, father her kits, and live happily ever after, then the least I can do is take the time to learn to call him Roger.

END

Blew Knight copyright 1999 by Bill Hart.